Hellishly Enchanted Times
by SwedishKiss
Summary: A pregnancy, a phrophecy, and a power-mad wizard are nothing out of the ordinary at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At least, not for Lily Evans and the Masters of Mischief (the Marauders), or so they believe.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Note: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The James Potter I ordered from the catalogue is mine. This is AU, so incidents portrayed do not reflect those in any of Rowling's books. This is told from James Potter's perspective, and he occasionally refers to himself in the third person because he is sexy enough to get away with it, and it's just part of his heroic charm.  
  
I suppose the course of my existence rested not within the hands of my blissfully ignorant parents, the miraculous Albus Dumbledore (acclaimed Headmaster of the illustrious Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry), and certainly not the calloused pair belonging to myself, James Potter, small-time criminal mastermind and Quidditch aficionado, but was borne upon the quaking shoulders of one Remus Lupin.  
  
He was an eerily reserved youth with mocha tresses, a gaunt face, a tremulous manner of addressing others, and downcast eyes bespeaking indescribable horrors. Yet, there was an air of confidence in his handshake, a bit of a swagger in his gait, an unmistakable sincerity in his smile that impressed me the instant he introduced himself, gaze locked upon the worn carpet of our First Year dormitory.  
  
"Lupin is a genius," our professors declared exuberantly, "the perfect candidate for the future Minister of Magic," as he was blessed with obnoxiously diplomatic manners and decided poise that only materialized during overwhelmingly stressful situations. To us, me and my fellow Marauders, he was simply Moony, a pathetically repressed devil with a halo. He possessed a mischievous streak, the required trait of all members of our merry band, which reared its ugly head whenever anyone felt driven to motivate him into achieving greatness. However, his willingness to comply with my countless plots of hexing random individuals into next week, paled dramatically in comparison to his bringing HER into my life.  
  
The invincible James Potter's very persona was obliterated and reconstructed, at the mere age of eleven, by a jade-eyed, crimson-locked, peaches-and-cream-complected siren. Lily Evans. SHE alone entered the world with the capacity of simultaneously being a man's undoing and his guardian angel. She cast a permanent spell over me without so much as uttering a syllable the instant I gazed into those glittering eyes and scrutinized those disheveled braids that hung just below her shoulders, accentuating that tantalizing smattering of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose.  
  
Lily had been Moony's dearest mate since his folks abandoned him on his grandmother's doorstep on his fifth birthday for 'reasons improper to enumerate in civilized company.' Although I'd hardly define the head of a drug ring and the leading lady of every married, European mans' bed as 'civilized company.' Moony's presence must have hindered their careers. Fortunately, the aforementioned grandmother had the Magic touch and offered her 'responsibility' a top-notch education in the 'supernatural arts,' and Lily, the precocious offspring of those 'blasted muggle neighbors' was welcomed heartily into her 'harmless coven.'  
  
As time progressed, so did Moony and Lily's magical prowess. Alas! Only a single Hogwart's letter was delivered to the unassuming single-level house on Windsor Street, scrawled in an elegant hand, for Remus Lupin.  
  
After a bloody DECADE of waiting for my opportunity to unleash 'real' magical expertise upon the individuals privileged enough to attend Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with myself, the owl perched atop the windowsill, commencing a rhythmic melody of TAP TAP TAP. Before you can say "Lemon Drop," September the first dawned, the journey aboard the express was completed, the sorting was undertaken, and Sirius Black and I were lounging in our dormitory, immersed in a passionate debate pertaining to the establishment of the Marauders.  
  
"It's impossible to become legendary troublemakers and heartbreakers with only two people, mate. Dynamic duos are simply a myth. You have to promise me right now that anyone who rooms with us will automatically be a member of the Marauders. Initiations and all that phlem-phlam would only reduce us to the level of Slytherins." He mussed his tie contemplatively.  
  
"Don't get your robes in a twist, Black, or worse, give yourself a hernia. It's a bit too early in the year for the nurse to get wise to my level of indifference concerning the health of my peers." Dramatically he swooned, clutching his sides and hacking horrendously. "You can have it your way, Drama Queen! Anyone who sleeps with us wreaks havoc with us." He quirked an eyebrow suggestively "So, there'll be Marauderettes then?"  
  
I shrugged my shoulders in defeat. "How much shagging can an eleven-year- old possibly manage?" "Potter," he tsked authoritatively, "I have contacts." I was rescued from the ensuing pillow fight designed to coerce him into revealing exactly who said contacts were by the arrival of Moony. "Hello, Gentleman. I'd like to introduce myself. The name's..." "Victim Number One," Sirius interrupted enthusiastically, continuing smugly, "Say no more, Chum! Say no more!" Corners of his mouth barely twitching into an easy-going smirk, Moony muttered that his name was not in fact 'Victim Number One', as Sirius would have insisted on calling him for the remainder of our friendship, but Remus Lupin.  
  
Dismissing the correction, Sirius surged onward with his dissertation, "Lupin, I've got an uncanny knack for categorizing people. You'll be the presumed goody-goody, the one who supposedly keeps us all in line, but in reality, you're the guy who'll contribute the diabolical insights, which ingredients we'll have to 'borrow' for our dastardly potions, and such." My best mate paused briefly, spitting into his palm, and I obligingly did the same, proudly continuing the tradition we had perfected over many years of fistfights, good-natured bickering, and envisioning our futures (myself as the captain of a Quidditch-World-Cup-winning team, and he as the sole possessor of a brothel of incomparably gorgeous witches). Cordially, I clapped Lupin on the back, "I'm James Potter. Welcome to the Marauders! Now, hurry up and unpack because for our brand of mischief, a man's gotta be clothed in his finest!"  
  
Theoretically, Lupin should have been the least amazed of all of us that Lily Evans, the epitome of innocence and meticulous upbringing, would stow away in his battered carpetbag in order to be jammed into the luggage compartment, jostled harshly about by the abrupt swaying of the awe- inspiring, scarlet engine (a.k.a the Hogwart's Express), and transported to a breathtaking castle, situated securely in an undisclosed location, without informing her parents of her decision prior to her hasty and clandestine departure. Nevertheless, it was Moony's jaw that unhinged and his tongue that lolled across the floor following the awkward disentanglement of limbs and primping of appearance of the hilariously rumbled young lady, who emerged from his belongings with an endearing and triumphant grin plastered upon her pleasantly flushed face.  
  
"Th...That's not dress robes, mate. That's a bloody, well...GIRL!," Sirius inclined his head haphazardly in her direction. Leave it to Sirius to be... flustered (?) over the inexplicable appearance of a member of the opposite sex. She sauntered over to him, the gentle sashay of her hips causing me to inhale sharply, but hopefully not audibly, winking seductively at the clearly flabbergasted Remus, and extended a delicately formed hand.  
  
"Lily Evans, at your service." Sirius perked up considerably at the notion of her submitting to him, but I discovered an agonizing fire coiling amongst my innards, surging upward into my throat at the very idea that she had invaded my domain and was attempting to persuade SIRIUS to allow her to be a Marauder, AS IF HE HAD SACRIFICED TEN YEARS OF HIS LIFE DESIGNING AND REALIZING THE VISION OF FORMING AN ALLIANCE OF PRANKSTERS DESTINED TO CHANGE HOGWART'S, PERHAPS THE ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD, FOREVER. "My best mate Remus and I are a bit of a packaged deal." I guffawed rudely, yearning for this delectable demon to apparate into the deepest regions of the netherworld from whence she came.  
  
"I could be your diversion. With my charming smile, fluttering eyelashes, and heart-melting feminine whiles, I am EXACTLY what the Marauders need to reach the paramount of pranking," she grazed Sirius's arm flirtatiously with her fingertips, resulting in Sirius nearly collapsing from a fit of gulping, and me clenching my fists, enraged, until dirt-encrusted fingernails penetrated sun-bronzed skin, and droplets of blood cascaded upon the floor, snarling murderously, "YOU. ARE. NOT. EQUIPPED. TO. BE. A. MAURADER."  
  
Eyes narrowed to slits, she appraised my reaction to her speech, tossing her braids over her shoulder, "My equippedness, according to your definition, has yet to be scientifically proven. Potter is it? Merlin's gift to witches, I'll wager. Well, it's arses like you who nearly kept the muggle and magical populations alike enslaved in the Dark Ages. You with your blinding arrogance and immeasurable superiority complex, too terrified of the unfamiliar to embrace change, even if it is obviously more gorgeous than you." Coyly, Sirius draped an arm over my shoulders. "She's got ya there, mate. If I had a choice between snogging with you, her, or a rotting corpse, my tongue would be wrestling with her's faster than you can catch a snitch."  
  
"I'd take the corpse," a mousy lad, abnormally hefty for his vertically- challenged structure, with phenomenally pointed teeth, and an oppressive eagerness to please, piped up, scuttling into the dormitory, as well as the throes of our heated discussion. "I...I'm P...Peter. P...Peter P...Pettigrew. Mum got into a minor disagreement with some muggle machine at the office, so I missed the train. I've got this fascination with maggots, which corpses tend to accommodate an abundance of," he concluded matter-of-factly.  
  
Sirius released his mockingly-affectionate grip on my shoulder, advancing upon the newcomer with an outstretched arm and devilish glint in his eye, prompting Peter to cower in the corner. "Check it out, Chamber Pot! It seems that P...Pettigrew here is the ideal addition to your organization of outlaws. His are the lips, which will be eternally melded to your arse. Although we all know Evans here was secretly dying to assume said prestigious position, she must be sadly disappointed." Lily cringed visibly, arousing my wrath even further, and enticing me to rumple my untamable shock of midnight hair.  
  
Unbeknownst to my darling mum, Dad had taken me aside one evening and explained what he dubbed 'the unsolvable mystery that is woman.' Judging by the lack of information I gleaned from that particular experience, all he was able to teach me was women decimate your bank account; I was not inclined to engage in any verbal confrontations with the bewitching Lily Evans. However, should my hands strangle her of their own volition, that was another matter entirely.  
  
To my unfathomable relief, the Headmaster glided into the dormitory with a majestic rustling of robes and rearranging of lengthy limbs to settle himself upon Lupin's bed, gently guiding Lily to the nearby desk chair. "P...Professor, I..." Lily ducked her head guiltily, traces of tears glistening in the corners of those vibrant eyes. "You simply rushed to the aid of a friend," tenderly, he wiped away her tears, pride tinting his regal voice. "Gallantry suits you, Ms. Evans. Gryffindor House shall be honored by your presence, I am certain. You mustn't fret about your parents. A letter has already been sent, explaining that Remus couldn't get along without you. What I don't understand," he beamed pointedly in my direction, "and perhaps your good friend, Mr. Potter, may be able to enlighten me," I blanched excruciatingly at his idiotic assumption, "Why did you bother considering confining yourself in such a miniscule space without so much as a single chocolate frog to keep you company?" "I..." Lily blubbered woefully, inspiring Dumbledore to squeeze her trembling hand adoringly, "You needn't explain it to me, Ms. Evans, but there is a SLIGHTLY miffed owl fluttering madly about outside the door with your letter, awaiting the opportunity to finish his business with you." She nodded in utter bafflement, stumbling into the otherwise deserted corridor to complete the transaction.  
  
"Gentleman, I bid you farewell," Dumbledore excused himself, shaking hands with each of us in turn, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially into my ear, "Mr. Potter, you might attempt to reevaluate your previous judgment of Ms. Evans. She is extraordinarily equipped to be the perfect companion for anyone so lucky as to win her heart."  
  
Sirius was right of course, Lupin did earn the reputation as the goody- goody-keep-'em-in-line fellow, while Pettigrew waddled constantly in my wake, practically pissing himself with sheer euphoria the microsecond I breathed in his proximity. Pondering about Dumbledore's characterization of Lily Evans consumed more waking, and slumbering, hours than I cared to admit that first year, and only seemed to intensify during each consecutive term at Hogwart's. Every successful prank and outburst of jubilant laughter emitted by a student due to one of our strokes of genius, never failed to bring with it images of a specific, spurned, jade-eyed, crimson-locked, peaches-and-cream-complected goddess. Maybe the Marauders needed her effervescence as much as Moony; maybe I, James Potter, needed her effervescence more than the lot of them. 


	2. Bamboozling Black

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," an onslaught of strategically-aimed linens, launched by the sheet-enshrouded mound I assumed was Sirius, pummeled me into wakefulness. Groggily, I wrenched sleep-encrusted eyelids open, revealing a raven-coated beast roughly the size of a single compartment of the Hogwart's Express, hovering above me, paws rooted insistently upon my chest, tongue flopping unbidden.  
  
A shower of saliva oozed across my forehead. "Is it absolutely imperative for you to carry on about your bloody Lily in the midst of my imaginary orgies?" I ruffled his ears amiably, snorting "You know I can't resist your puppy face, Padfoot, but the drooling, mate, the drooling's bound to result in retaliatory hexing." He rewarded my announcement with a hiked leg and 'unjustly provoked' puddle of urine. "Evans will NEVER drool all over you, Potter, so someone else has to shoulder THAT heavenly responsibility."  
  
Granted, this THRILLING opportunity to bond with caustic Sirius was not the most auspicious beginning for the first of September, Seventh Year. I'd previously concluded, and publicly proclaimed, that Pettigrew would be the one to piss himself today. Grudgingly, I placed a tiny fortune in galleons between Sirius's expectant jaws, barely avoiding an immanent mowing-down by Sirius's preferred ammunition, his lethally wagging tail. "Now that we're the kings of the castle, you've only got nine months left until our educational career is complete, Prongsie, and from my vantage point, Evans isn't itching to succumb to your virile self anymore than she's lusting after having a go with some devil's snare."  
  
Blatantly dismissing his reference to the obvious, Evan's vow to eternally loathe me and consider me the most indescribably repulsive breed of pestilence she had ever, not to mention would ever, have the misfortune to encounter, I rumpled my hair, snarling murderously, "I'm no closer to dissolving our little wager than I was in First Year. EVANS WILL IRREVOCABLY AND INESCAPABLY RETURN MY AFFECTIONS! In fact, I've decided the time has come to raise the stakes a bit," Sirius growled his utter astonishment, collapsing onto his haunches in dismay. "Your Nimbus and invisibility cloak are hanging in the balance as your sheer insipidness proceeds to disclose itself, Potter. Evans would be as prone to reciprocating your puppy love as she would a Malfoy's."  
  
I staggered to my feet, enraged that he would dare degrade my love...er...TOLERANCE for Lily Evans in such a fashion as comparing it to anything remotely associated with a Malfoy. I'd brought him into my home when his parents disowned him for his ties to Gryffindor House. I'd enmeshed him so deeply in the affairs of my family; my folks doted upon him as if the ungrateful prat had never been anyone but a Potter. And, after years of adoring his insufferable arse unconditionally, in a purely brotherly manner mind you, he had the gal to categorize me with the Malfoys!  
  
"Potter, let's find you a new conquest, someone more doable than the unattainable Evans. McGonagall's way over due for a torrid love affair. Besides, I'd abhor the mere thought of you losing your beloved broom on my account," his whiskers twitched nonchalantly. I KERPLOPPED to my knees, nose-to-nose with the fluffy git, proclaiming courageously, "I'm not after some conquest where Lily Evans is concerned, Padfoot." Sirius panted in relief, a comically dopy grin contorting his canine countenance.  
  
"Indeed, mate. I doubt even Dumbledore could concoct a spell boasting the required oomph to obliterate that emotional barrier she's erected about herself." I chuckled merrily, lounging contentedly beside him, declaring boldly, "Penetrating that barrier shall prove as trivial a task as positively trouncing the Slytherins at Quidditch. I'm questing for a much more sacred bounty these days."  
  
Sirius's tail swept to and fro, as the poor fellow became consumed with anticipation. "You're not on about the sorcerer's stone again are ya? You know Dumbledore's guarding it with his very life...after last time." I guffawed raucously, reminiscing over that stunt during Fifth Year when a certain band of Marauders, who shall remain nameless, managed to swipe Dumbledore's latest invention from his office, for no nobler a purpose than persuading Moony the perilous mission could be accomplished.  
  
"Everlasting youth pales in comparison to gaining Lily's consent to our marriage." Sirius gaped horrendously, eyes bulging from furry sockets, ears flat against his head in unrestrained terror, squeaking piteously with a decidedly Pettigrew-like methodology, "M..m...marriage?! As...as in one woman f...for t..the restofyourlife?! Bloody hell, Potter! I'd bawl my bloomin' eyes out! And I'm certain Evans will follow suite! D...does she know that you've lost all the marbles you never possessed?" Giddily, I presented him with THE ring, all fourteen carrots and shimmering, multi-facets of the countless embedded diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.  
  
Abruptly, he commenced uncharacteristic hyperventilation, squirming about the room in a state of spontaneous convulsions, "Did you knock over a jewelry shop, Potter? Because those muggle "policemen" don't seem threatening, constantly indulging in their "donut" fetishes and "ticket" scribbling, but those "prisons..." I've heard many a tale of wizards being held captive in those fetid quarters, and the atrocities one's cellmates commit, bloody brutal! Actions are taken with brooms, which violate every heroic Quidditch principal." Gasping for breath, silver eyes pleading, I gripped his shoulder soothingly, "Embrace calmness, Black. I came by the ring honestly. You're in the company of a working man."  
  
Sirius's flabbergasted expression was squelched by the decidedly welcome bellowing of my mum that breakfast was on the table. We scrambled downstairs, various puppy parts transforming into human limbs, as we catapulted ravenously toward the scrumptious fare. According to custom, mum greeted the pair of us with a dainty kiss on the cheek and exasperated rolling of her eyes.  
  
Dad tossed wary glances in our respective directions, glasses slipping unheeded down the bridge of his nose, so engrossed was he in the current edition of the Daily Prophet. "Gentlemen," he acknowledged us dolefully, following his intense perusal of the paper, "I want you to promise me..." Sirius squirmed in his seat anxiously, indubitably prepared to swear on his entire family's tombstones (his fondest wish was to witness the immediate demise of all bearing the legendary name of Black) that he would do everything in his power to ensure James Potter was unsuccessful in his design of engagement to Lily Evans until a future date. "Promise me that you will make an effort, regardless of how negligible, to remain on civil terms with Severus Snape this year."  
  
"But, Dad," I was unable to contain myself from thundering, despite countless grandeos gestures from Sirius, "You're employed by his father! You're well aware of the misery caused by forced interaction with that slimy, arrogant, pompous, revolting, despicable, insert expletive here every bloody day! How can you ask me to endure equivalent torture, and maintain my silence?!" Sirius elbowed me venomously in the ribs, grinning innocently at my father all the while.  
  
"Oy, Mr. Potter? What do you reckon a self-proclaimed, holier-than-thou muggle-despiser is doing working for the Muggle Relations Department anyway?" Dad clapped Sirius on the back affectionately, staring wistfully through the fluttering, lace curtains into the wide world beyond.  
  
"I'll tell you a secret, Sirius, my boy. I only wish the select few made privy to this information hadn't been 'requested' to suppress the truth. I know Dumbledore plans to explain this to you and your peers at the feast this evening, but I believe that the ray of hope he is encouraged to impress upon you exists, will only cloud the judgment of those incharge of deciding our future." I scooted my chair closer to my father, mesmerized and stupefied by his wisdom, his uncertainty about what tomorrow would bring.  
  
"You see, son, there is dissention among certain members of the wizarding world, dissention, which will soon transform into absolute hatred of all who represent and employ decent magic, and, before the end of the impending war, generations of wizards will be annihilated in inconceivable numbers via torturous methods. There is no guarantee that you, or I, or James, or Mum, or your children, or even your children's' children will survive the massacres that await us."  
  
Mum bustled into the dining area then, in a flurry of scarlet, satin skirt, smeared apron bearing the command, "That's Ms. Witch to you,", and dabbing at her eyes furiously, to no avail. Resting her chin tenderly atop his similarly stubborn tresses, she seethed desperately, "You. Weren't. Meant. To. Warn. Them. Dumbledore was supposed to deal with this!" Heedlessly, he swung her into his lap, brushing wayward strands of auburn locks behind her ear, "Dumbledore wasn't anymore thrilled about lying to them than I was, darling." "You're not...lying," she protested, but her words held no conviction, "you were simply..." Dad squeezed her hand, gallantly endeavoring to assure her somehow, "concealing the gravity of the situation," he supplied numbly.  
  
"To answer your brilliant inquiry, Sirius," Dad continued gravely, "Snape's father works for the Muggle Relations Department to avoid suspicion of his true character, his ulterior motives, his activities behind closed doors. That is why you MUST attempt friendship with his son. Maintaining unity among the houses, regardless of ancient grudges, is the HOPE of victory in the days, weeks, months, and years to come." Returning to the kitchen bearing a mountainous stack of dishes, Mum shooed us upstairs to resume packing, rather start packing, which we refrained to correct her about, as she didn't need any more excuses to worry about her boys, for we'd be traveling to the train station by portkey in approximately 97 minutes.  
  
In the serenity of the room we shared, Sirius inquired conspiratorially, "So...are you still planning on that happily ever after with Evans?" I gingerly fingered the ring secured in my pocket, clarifying confidently, "Definitely, Padfoot, now more than ever." He cocked an eyebrow at me, obviously befuddled. "You heard what Dad said about unity regardless of ancient grudges." His befuddlement merely persisted. "I'd classify seven years as about as ancient of a grudge as they come. Besides, marriage is the most efficient and effective way of unifying two houses." His shoulders slumped dejectedly, "Pity Evans wasn't there to be convinced by your Dad's speech too, ey, mate?"  
  
Silence reigned, as we sloppily and hastily crammed our belongings into every available space our trunks afforded, bid the cluttered chamber a heartfelt farewell, and clambered downstairs, oversized possession in tow, where the parentals were huddled together, immersed in a fervent discussion pertaining to the fate of ourselves and our kind.  
  
Author's Note: Whoa! This is going in a totally different direction than I originally anticipated, but, in my experience, the stories that are the most worth writing are the ones that the characters seize control of without your knowledge and consent. I had no idea James was going to have a ring already for Lily, but there isn't any reason to not expect the unexpected when dealing with Potter. By the way, if you're wondering why Mr. Potter seems all prophetical about the rise of Voldemort, when you work with individuals who are blatantly malicious towards all living creatures, such as the Snapes and the Malfoys, you begin to suspect they are capable and more than willing to get violent. And, since this is James's perspective, he may not be aware of absolutely EVERYTHING his father observes at the office, which led Mr. Potter to the conclusion that war was inevitable. 


	3. Engaging Evans

"Enlighten me once more, mate, about how exactly you've convinced yourself that wooing the far-superior Lily Evans is in fact a possibility...EVER," Sirius whined incredulously, cramming his voluminous carry-on baggage into the expandable overhead compartment a tad more forcefully than necessary due to his frustration over the mournful send-off (on my parents' side) we had previously endured.  
  
Irritably, I toyed with my disheveled locks, deadpanning "You're complicating man's simplest duty for no reason, Padfoot," through clenched teeth. "Ruddy splendid, your logic is, Potter. If man's simplest task is marrying a sensible woman, who is sublimely ecstatic at the mere idea of his untimely demise, then I'm a vile Slytherin." Jovially, I reached for his hand, "Name's James Potter, and this is Gryffindor territory you colossal git, so ya'd best shove off if you value your life." Grumpily, he snarled, "I expect there's no point in reminding you that Evans isn't the sort of girl who'd consider the Honeymoon a proper first date!"  
  
Remus, Pettigrew right on his heels, relaxed upon the seat across from us, prattling on jubilantly, as Pettigrew ogled me worshipfully, "Gentlemen, I daresay it's been too bloody long since we gave someone hell. What do you have in mind for Marauder Mayhem the first?! I smuggled a couple of choice items from the old lady's 'restricted' collection. By my calculations, we're clearly past the eye-of-newt-and-tail-of-dog phase." Sirius poured over the contents of Remus's tattered carry-on reverently, silver eyes widening in astonishment, cackling maliciously.  
  
Slightly appalled by Sirius lovingly stroking the various vials he had extracted from Pettigrew's white-knuckled clutches, I turned to Lupin, who'd been currently captivated by the rugged landscape, "Moony, we should'a dropped by more often." His eyes immediately lost their dreamy haze, as my admission jolted him back to reality. "Prongs, it was enough that you were with me during my...difficult stages. You and Sirius kept me from bumping off the old bag. That's what counts." Shoulders sagging, I offered him a regretful grin. "You're wrong about that, mate. Real friends are those who stand by you even on the days when there's no danger of the furniture becoming intact."  
  
Dramatically, he slumped to the floor in a swift, yet stately, motion, "Is it possible that James Potter has developed a conscious after all these years?" Grunting heavily, Sirius pulled Moony to his feet, "Nah! But that's Marauder Mayhem the first, right Prongsie? Bamboozling Evans into believing our wickle Potter's grasped some concept of compassion." A wave of nostalgia tugged at the corners of Remus's mouth, as he murmured an almost imperceptible, "Lily" under his breath, announcing impishly, "Whatever misery you've concocted to foist upon the delightful Ms. Evans, I'm ready and willing, mate." Provocatively, I unfastened the "Head Boy" badge from Remus's chest, triumphantly pinning it to my own, patting Remus nonchalantly on the head, "Your work is done."  
  
Sirius halted me mid-swagger, inquiring curtly, "How do you play Quidditch? Spare the death-glare, Potter, and answer the bloody question." My interest piqued, I expounded dutifully, "Each team has seven members. Three of them are Chasers. The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other, passing it down the field, in order to score a goal (worth ten points) by tossing it through hoops at the opposite end. Keepers are supposed to guard the hoops from the Chasers. Bludgers are balls that fly around and attempt to knock players off their brooms, while Beaters chase after them, protecting other players from their attacks. And, the Seeker, yours truly being the greatest ever, must hunt down and capture the Golden Snitch, dodging Chasers, Beaters, Keepers, Quaffles and Bludgers, before his opponent does, for an additional hundred and fifty points, and, generally, victory." Sirius enthusiastically nodded his approval, shooing me in the direction of the "Head's Compartment" with a less-than-encouraging reminder that, "Unlike Quidditch, Prongsie, Evans doesn't come with rules."  
  
I strolled into the her justly-deserved environment, garnering every shred of dignity and false bravado I could muster, valiantly suppressing the all-consuming desire to guffaw heartily over her insurmountable astonishment that I, James Potter, proudly bore the coveted "Head Boy" ornamentation. "P...Potter?! What the bloody hell are you playing at?! If YOU'VE DELUDED YOURSELF INTO ACCEPTING YOUR INCONCIEVABLE HALUCINATION THAT I WILL EVER ACCEPT A MINISCULE SCRAP OF MATERIAL AS JUSTIFICATION FOR GOING OUT WITH SOMEONE, THEN YOU'RE A MORE MORONIC PRICK THAN I'VE GIVEN YOU CREDIT FOR! Y... YOU ARROGANT, PIG-HEADED, INSUFFERABLE, OBNOXIOUS, WORTHLESS...!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Enraged, I clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her outburst, drowning momentarily in the staggering sensations washing over me by the simple act of touching her. Hackles rising considerably, I languidly appraised her petite, luscious, convulsing frame, acknowledging sultrily, "I missed you too, Evans. And yet, I have to concede that your acidic vocabulary would turn me off completely were it not substantially overshadowed by your breathtaking radiance." She gawked, fantastically disoriented by my unanticipated adeptness of brilliant verbalization. Stealthily, I inhaled her alluring fragrance, as she endeavored to mask her admiration behind the pages of a gargantuan volume.  
  
I, however, was not to be deterred by her ploy of mind expansion. Snaking an arm hesitantly about her waist, I cooed silkily, "Are you searching for more insults with which to disembowel my character and brutally shatter my heart?" Testily, she turned up her nose at me, but didn't unravel herself from my grasp, "Actually, I was searching for a phone number. My hired assassin failed to honor his portion of our little agreement (i.e. slitting your throat before you boarded the train), which means I'll have to take my business elsewhere." Subtly, I narrowed the distance between us. "I recognize a thesaurus when I see one, Evans. Except..." She fidgeted self- consciously, stammering pitifully, "Except?" Immediately, I snatched the object secreted within the confines of the literary material separating her crimson face from my own.  
  
"Chamber Charisma Through the Ages," I snorted derisively, scanning the undulating, rather erotic, yet poorly drawn, illustrations (obviously, the artist was intoxicated when creating said diagrams) that spanned the sensual evolution of all species of the wizarding world. Coyly, levitating the thesaurus and step-by-step-guide-to-creating-orgasmic-magic-in-the- bedroom into her trunk, throat constricting in arousal, sweating profusely, I caressed her cheek, lightly tilting her chin heavenward, coercing her to meet my steady gaze.  
  
"If you needed advice, or, preferably a demonstration, I would have been more than willing to satisfy your every whim, Evans. You wouldn't even have to regard it as a date. We wouldn't be going out or anything, we'd just be two acquaintances performing the most innate and marvelous favors for each other, no strings attached, and no magical contracts involved."  
  
Flirtatiously, she batted those titillating lashes in an unnecessarily come- hither fashion, crooning in my ear, beguiling breath traversing the length of my over-stimulated neck, "I regret to inform you, Potter, the position of irresistible "Sex Instructor" has already been filled by Sirius Black. Perhaps you've heard of him. He has quite the reputation." Victoriously, she stamped a chaste kiss on my cheek prior to me thundering far, far away from her seductively infuriating presence.  
  
Somberly, Albus Dumbledore faced the Tribunal of Elders, gravely observing the maroon wisps of mist swirling feverishly within the descending aquamarine orb, absently twirling the tip of his snow-white beard, consumed by the progressively distressing visions of Voldemort's reign revealed by the sphere. Haggard wizards, witches, and magical entities of all sorts, convening in the cobweb-enveloped "Conference Room" in the uppermost corridor of the Department of Mysteries, focused upon his withered face solemnly, yearning for guidance. His formerly sparkling eyes were dull, anguished, lifeless. The tone of his resonant, humor-tinted voice bespoke only the grim, grizzly, and ghastly, which lay ahead.  
  
"And, you are quite certain, Albus, that these two...INFANTS are THE key to our survival," Cornelius Fudge, esteemed Assistant Minister of Magic, blustered scathingly, referring haughtily to the two youthful figures the council had just witnessed brawling in the Heads' Compartment. "As certain as I am that SEVENTEEN hardly constitutes infancy, and that brawl, as you call it, was simply a civil discussion of their shared enjoyment in literature," Dumbledore reprimanded steely. "Seventeen though they may be, Albus, you're preparing to send them into battle against a Dark Lord wizards twice their age, and seventy times more experienced, have no hope of defeating."  
  
Dumbledore nodded firmly, "James Potter and Lily Evans will astound all who know them, as well as all who have yet to enter this world, in the remarkably near future with their love, loyalty, and unwavering courage in the face of presumably immeasurable adversity. Cornelius, unless you are hankering for a disgustingly horrific preview of the devastating legacy forced upon our kind, as well as the muggle world, by your, and your administration's, insipid refusal to heed my counsel, I suggest you trust me on this matter. The fate of ourselves, and our entire world, rests within the capable hands of James Potter and Lily Evans."  
  
Author's Note: So, it's up to James and Lily to defeat Voldemort. No pressure there. I can't wait to see how James will react to Lily's announcement about her "plans" for Sirius in the bedroom. I expect entanglements over the engagement ring will heighten very soon. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it! More to come in the very near future, once all my dirty laundry decides to bugger off, of course. 


	4. Demystifying Dumbledore

"Good evening Students and Faculty!" Dumbledore's traditional address resonated throughout the Great Hall, compelling all other superfluous sounds to cease straightaway, minus the irritating prattleing rippling from the Slytherin Section.  
  
"I am deeply honored to relish the benefit of welcoming each and every one of you to another year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we satiate our tummies, our caretaker, Argus Filch, has requested that I caution all of you about the Forbidden Forest policy. The forest is off limits to every student, and consequences for anyone determined to behave rebelliously will be catastrophic, potentially deadly. And, if anyone disturbs Hogwart's newest acquisition, the Whomping Willow, should your limbs and other appendages be severed, they may not be reattached." Following an epidemic of hysterical outbreaks from the First Years, Dumbledore's clamorous throat clearing retained our undivided deliberation.  
  
"Few of you are aware that the magical realm is governed by a coalition of Elders, which is a body made up of representatives of every known species within with our world. Even fewer of you are acquainted with the origins and deeds of a Dark Lord known as Voldemort. The Elders have unanimously chosen to abolish all admission of Voldemort's throngs of supporters, which have become extensive during the past several months. If I genuinely subscribed to the widespread theory that Voldemort could be destroyed with minimal casualties, I would not be delaying the Start of Term Feast in such an alarming fashion." Petrified wheezing gushed from Dumbledore's audience, instigating a momentary lapse in his dissertation, before he resolutely pressed onward.  
  
"Unfortunately for us all, we are in the midst of what will one day be considered the epitome of bloody, brutal, deplorably hellish massacres ever carried out. Sanctuary for ourselves, as well as our Muggle counterparts, is no longer a foreseeable outcome. Many will perish; entire cities will be reduced to rubble, courtesy of one man's fetish with unadulterated control, procuring his ideals of paradise."  
  
"I have been elected by the Elders to the position of 'Educating the Youth' and simultaneously deceiving you into tranquility. BUT I WILL NOT SPHEREHEAD A RUDDY CAPAIGN OF DECEPTION! When owls begin pouring in, bearing scrolls paying homage to the deceased, Hogwart's students shall appreciate the heroics that result from battle, bonding together in pride over our cause: peace among the wizard factions and harmony between ourselves and the Muggles we are sworn to protect."  
  
Signaling imperiously, a bounteous banquet materialized before our incessantly watering, searingly puffy, torturously bloodshot eyes. Wordlessly, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins partook of the house elves' labor, mechanically shoveling forkfuls of the delicacies into our excusably unhinged jaws. Sirius sniggered raggedly, more to engulf the mute gathering with ANYTHING audible than in mirth over his musings, buggering off promptly, as Lily elbowed her way, with impressive tenacity, between us.  
  
Pawing frantically at my garments, she nestled against my now-heaving chest, inexplicably coaxing my heart into a seemingly eternal series of rambunctious palpitations. "Utter one syllable, Potter, and both of our worlds will be miraculously blessed by your mysterious inability to procreate." Sirius chortled derisively, slyly depriving the distraught Evans, still adhering perilously to every millimeter of my robes she could reach, less she fulfill THAT oath, of her wand, cowering briskly as she whirled about, to assault him no doubt, sulkily settling for retrieving the stolen trinket instead.  
  
"Hold me, Potter," she whimpered petulantly, her pleas urgently dissolving all instinctive functions but the voracity to shelter her. "I NEED some form, albeit the most loathsome variety conceivable, of normalcy, and being near you, touching you, sensing your detestable aura, regrettably must suffice." Gripping her thighs commandingly, I twined her shapely legs snuggly about the trim circumference of my waist, giddily noting the tint of rose blooming in her cheeks, nostrils flaring savagely, as I situated her pulsating form flush against mine, tempestuous desires churning within every fiber of my being.  
  
"As humbled as I am that you have designated me, lowly wretch that I am, your official "Comfort Zone," might I remind you that You. Are. Not. The. Only. One. Conscious. Of. The. Abnormality. That. Has. Befallen. Us. Muggles are not alone in this war, Evans. Your kind will not solely be affected by the battles, the inexpressible aftermath," I reprimanded her callousness as tactfully as was permissible, considering our current position. She had admitted that she needed me, and my lustily throbbing loins were basking in the euphoria of needing her here, now, immediately, as well.  
  
Infuriated, she malevolently siphoned herself from my vice-like grip, caterwauling blood-curdlingly, "I comprehend the intricacies of vanquishing Voldemort exquisitely, you IMBECILE! Wizards, witches, and all other citizens of the magical plane are in a most regrettable quandary, being the sole candidates for neutralizing the Dark Lord. But, MR. POTTER, muggles possess no bloody wands, incantations, or magical expertise of any sort to aid them. They are, unbeknownst to them, confronting a foe they have never heard of from a world they have absolutely no idea exists! At least you and your magical allies have hope."  
  
Blatantly defying her incensed protestations, I allowed my arms to encircle her once more, solemnly swearing, "You shall never be devoid of hope, Evans. I'll be here for all eternity, ceaselessly providing you with guaranteed preservation from Voldemort and company." Loosing herself triumphantly via a diabolical blow to my shin, she grated snidely, "I'd rather Voldemort offer preservation from you any day, Potter. Spare your revolting definition of foreplay for someone who is exceedingly grateful for the repugnant fact that you live." Linking arms with Remus, who had been admirably fixated upon an opportunity to 'catch up' with her for years, Evans flitted aristocratically from the Great Hall.  
  
A gnarled hand grazed my shoulder, deterring me from my most recent and praise-worthy vendetta, decimating Remus Lupin. Thoroughly discomfited, I staunchly beheld the penetrating scrutiny of the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, tutting an insinuating, yet doting, "Mr. Potter." "Professor," I retorted brusquely. His lips quivered animatedly for an instant before he observed primly, "You are a man who could use a therapeutic round of Quidditch, and I am a man in search of a worthy opponent. Won't you join me on the pitch, Mr. Potter?"  
  
Fantastically thunderstruck, I conceded to his gracious invitation, consenting to follow him hypnotically to the only place I have ever felt truly alive, my arena of inner peace and heady fulfillment, other than in the arms of Lily Evans.  
  
Dumbledore mounted his broom, muscles taunt in preparation for the inevitable. Stoically, I released the Golden Snitch, ducking the aerial blitz of multiple Bludgers. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's sonorous voice reverberated through the otherwise hushed stillness, which had enshrouded the grounds. "I promise to severely trounce you as presently and painlessly as I can, in order to afford you the fighting chance of a swift nap prior to your clandestine Quidditch-related appointment with Mr. Black after curfew."  
  
His impeccably-aimed Quaffle soared smartly through the hoop I had sought to guard, until the bloodthirsty Bludgers took it upon themselves to besiege my immediate concentration. Panting rigorously, as Dumbledore floated past me lethargically, I maneuvered the troublesome Quaffle toward the opposite goal.  
  
Five minutes in, and a familiar whirring voiced itself from within the Headmaster's outstretched hand. Smirking impishly, he produced the Golden Snitch, loftily descending to the dew-laden grass beneath us, chiding airily, "Potter, promise me you'll focus more on the events on the field than what may, or may not, be occurring between Mr. Lupin and Ms. Evans during the upcoming match against Slytherin."  
  
Feigning naiveté, I returned the brooms and other Quidditch materials to their proper resting places. Tugging his beard meditatively, as we embarked upon the lengthy trek back to the castle, he concluded, "In regard to Ms. Evans, Remus merely wishes to shield her. Mr. Potter, I trust, in the future, you will bestow more leniency upon those who simply wish to defend that which you cherish most."  
  
"Headmaster," I disputed belligerently, "Remus is, and will be forever more, one of my dearest mates, but Lily Evans is not his to protect." He examined me quizzically, interjecting dryly that 'Ms. Evans did not belong to me yet.' I professed assuredly, "Until she does Professor, Lupin's aspirations of servitude toward her are inconsequential. Hogwart's is an impervious fortress that Voldemort can only fantasize about breaching."  
  
He rumpled my hair mournfully. "Ms. Evans was never incorrect in her analysis of your character. Your arrogance will prove to be your most injurious vice. Hogwart's is vulnerable, Mr. Potter. Voldemort will penetrate our defenses, thereby gaining admittance to the subtleties and complexities of these very hallowed halls."  
  
Frenziedly, he withdrew a crumpled scrap of parchment from the innermost folds of his robes, presenting it to me reverently, "This is the culmination of centuries of research vigilantly compiled by our magnanimous forefathers, and our sole strategic tact Voldemort has yet to anticipate. If only they were here to direct our footsteps now."  
  
Impulsively, I clasped his hand, "I have no doubt that you will make them proud, Professor." Authoritatively, he halted me before the Fat Lady's portrait, "As you will eventually do for Ms. Evans. To bed, Mr. Potter." Winking devilishly, I whooped, "By the way, Professor, I let you severely trounce me at Quidditch."  
  
Author's Note: Classes begin next chapter because we can't let our favorite wizards and witch remain ignorant for too long. I liked the idea of Dumbledore playing Quidditch with James, since he impresses me as the kind of person who knows you better than you know yourself (Please note: With Harry, Dumbledore always appeared when he was depressed about his parents, on the verge of being expelled, or in the process of tangling with Voldemort, while, with James, he mentions Lily, the Marauders, and Quidditch, all of which molded "Mr. Potter" into the arrogant, bullying, toerag we can't get enough of). And what did Dumbledore give James? I wonder. Read on to find out that and more conflicts with the thus far one- sided engagement. Plus, I'm hoping to incorporate different points of view in future chapters. Delving into Sirius's mind will be wicked awesome! 


End file.
